


Grace and a cod-piece

by Petra



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-03
Updated: 2009-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shakespeare is full of dirty jokes, though not perhaps as full as Darren thinks it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace and a cod-piece

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Carla for pre-reading. Written for [](http://meresy.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**meresy**](http://meresy.dreamwidth.org/)'s [porn tag](http://meresy.livejournal.com/189843.html).

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Geoffrey said, his shoulders bowed at last with defeat though he made one last, feeble protest. "It's not a filthy speech. It's just not."

Darren smiled in victory. He did not smirk, and any implication that he might have done so at any point was merely Geoffrey being a sore loser. "Anything that begins with 'blow' and goes on 'Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks' -- the cocks, Geoffrey, how much more could the man spell it out for you?"

"No squirt guns in the storm," Geoffrey said, holding up one hand though his shaggy head was bowed. "And no --" he waved his hand "-- medical devices."

"Of course not," Darren agreed, magnanimous in victory. It was three in the morning and they'd been arguing over the staging for hours. "Besides, prophylactics of the period would probably require more than a week's notice for pickling or something."

At that, Geoffrey looked up again, his eyes widened in something like horror. "God. Why aren't you as wrong about that as you are about everything else?"

"Don't worry, darling," Darren said, his hands on his hips though he was sitting on his bed while Geoffrey leaned against the wall, too given to flailing in aggravation to settle. "Lear wouldn't worry about that sort of thing with his dear old Fool, would he, now? He'd hardly get the man with child."

"No." Geoffrey shook his head as if he was trying to dispel the image. "Not that they were getting up to anything of the sort."

"Things that love night / Love not such nights as these," Darren suggested, giving it a lilt. "There are plenty of men out on that heath in the rain."

Geoffrey scowled beautifully. "Not Kent. Someone in the play has to be less corrupt."

"Less of a sodomite?" Darren raised his eyebrows and let the question hang.

A deeper though no less attractive scowl, and Geoffrey rolled his eyes. "By the standards of the time. If we're not doing modern dress, we're not doing modern morality, which is just as well considering what a heaping pile of abuse of power the court engages in."

"Ah, damn." Darren snapped his fingers, making it an extremely obvious bit of business rather than an actual expression of irritation. "There goes my next suggestion."

"Don't tell me," Geoffrey said immediately.

He didn't put his hands over his ears, leave the room apace, or cover Darren's mouth with his hands, so he clearly didn't mean it. Darren took a deep breath, and that made Geoffrey take a step back. "No, don't," he reiterated, insincerely.

He was still well within earshot when Darren sang one quick line: "It's raining men --"

By his reckoning, Geoffrey was more or less equally likely to flee, scream, or do what he did in the event, which was say, "Fuck, you're annoying," and kiss him hard, straddling him where he sat on the bed.

"I'm brilliant," Darren corrected him while he got his hand down Geoffrey's pants.

"Insane," Geoffrey said against his mouth, fumbling with his fly. "Why I ever put up with you --"

"And thou, all-shaking thunder," Darren said and sucked his earlobe, trying to distract him with quick strokes. He knew the answer to the rhetorical as well as Geoffrey did: arguing about staging until dawn nearly always ended with shouting, and half the time it ended with fucking.

Geoffrey laughed and gasped, pushing himself up on his shoulders for long enough to get his pants off. "If God had intended disco in the same universe as Shakespeare, he'd have put them together himself."

"Predeterminism? Fuck no, Geoffrey." Darren wriggled out of his pants with some effort and tossed them aside. "Besides, you want people to get it, don't you?"

"By 'people' you mean 'half-wits and teenagers'? Not particularly." Geoffrey kissed him again, tangling his fingers in Darren's hair and lying mostly on top of him, warm and heavy. Darren reached between them and wrapped his hand around both their cocks, stroking them together. "Fuck."

The argument had apparently lasted too long: Geoffrey was half-gone already with the particular blend of artistic rage and passion he did so well and so addictively. Darren temporarily abandoned his plea for accessibility in favor of rocking his hips up, trying to keep pace. "Dirty jokes are universal," he said, half breathless.

Geoffrey buried his face in Darren's shoulder and groaned in physical and mental frustration. "You're just -- nn -- fixated on penises."

"Mostly yours, right now. And, um, mine," Darren admitted.

"Hallelujah," Geoffrey said, his voice choked, and came on Darren's stomach and both their hands.

Darren laughed, momentarily distracted from orgasm by victory. "It's in your head, isn't it."

"Fuck you." Geoffrey kissed him again, sucking his tongue with a ferocity that suited his words, and stroked him with more focus, helped by the slickness on his fingers. He kept Darren from being able to take a deep enough breath to say anything more than "Oh" before he came, pushing convulsively into Geoffrey's hand.

"Mm," Darren said before he entirely meant to say anything.

Geoffrey kissed him again, more leisurely, and made a soft sound of agreement. "It's getting late."

"Sort of," Darren allowed. "Though you aren't particularly up to snuff tonight."

The offended ego on Geoffrey's face was worth giving up all the squirt guns in the world. "What? You only lasted a minute more than I did."

"You can't take a hint," Darren chided him, sitting up and making a face. "'Blow, winds,' I said. And this is what I get?"

There was relief in Geoffrey's expression along with the vexation. "Are you calling me your Fool?"

"I wouldn't presume," Darren said in his archest tone. "But then, maybe tomorrow."

Geoffrey shrugged. "Maybe. We'll have to figure out just how much subtext the scene can handle, after all."


End file.
